11. || wings upon your horns.

Finley didn't question River when they cut left onto a muddy overgrown road instead of keeping right on the main route that winds through the hollow. The old logging roads could get them to the mine entrance just as well, faster even, for they were the veins that led to the heart of the mountain. But as River slowed to a stop and hopped out their jeep in the middle of old growth pines and hardwoods, doubt began to erode Finley's mind.

"It's just up ahead a ways, but stay close." River swung Finley's door open and helped her down from the sheepskin covered seat, reaching behind it to loop a duffle bag onto their shoulder. Sheathed in their buckskin belt, the bone handle of the hunting knife stuck up next to the steel head of a hatchet. River stood there a moment, staring out into the woods, waiting and listening, before finally opening the tailgate to grab their rifle. As they loaded the magazine, the cold metal slap of the bolt closing cracked with an echo against the woods and a lone crow returned its call.

"What exactly did you mean by you got demons hanging around up here?" Finley asked, weaving through stalks of goldenrod and queen anne's lace along what was left of the road. Trying to keep up with River's long-legged strides, she pert near ran flat smack into the back of their suede jacket and rifle when they stopped abruptly before a pair of hemlocks that seemed to mirror one another.

"Exactly what I said, so stay sharp."

Now, Finley knew demons came in all shapes and sizes, from every walk of life. Sometimes their presence was obvious like the beasts that blur the boundaries of sleep and wake, the ones that call out at night to lure you from bed, coax you into the woods during the in-between. But others could disguise themselves in far more subtle ways, a kind gesture, a face in a photograph, a warm hand held just a bit too tight. All they needed was a fissure in your skin, a crack in your life, to seep into your core and spread their disease.

And seven years ago, unbeknownst to her at the time, Finley had met such a demon. It had neither fang nor scale, no hooved feet nor horns. Its voice didn't bang through her head like mountain thunder. Instead, it startled her like the velvet flutter of moth wings.

"Do you need help with that?" the Demon asked, stepping into the frame of Finley's selfie. "I can take the picture for you."

"Oh, thanks, but—" As she lowered her phone, it slipped from her hands and clattered against the limestone floor of the overlook. She squatted down to grab it, as did the Demon, meeting her face to face. Beneath a green ball cap, its eyes sparkled blue like a reflection of the dam that stretched before them.

Picking up her phone, the Demon stared at the screen. "You're very photogenic."

"I'm uh, much more comfortable on the other side of the lens, a camera lens, usually." Finley smiled as she held out her hand for the phone. "Just wanted to send my sister a selfie to let her know I haven't been kidnapped by some deranged mountain man."

The Demon chuckled softly as it took aholt Finley's hand, pulling her up to stand. "Why don't you let me take it for you? I can get the whole dam in the background."

"Oh, you don't have to. I can just text her, really."

But as she held out her hand once more for the phone, the Demon simply smiled again, stepping back to line up the shot. Pursing her lips, Finley gave in and leaned against the rock overlook, studying the Demon that looked nothing like a demon from Grandad's stories. Dressed in brand-name athleisure, all tight where it needed to be, the Demon looked just like any other well-off city flatlander visiting the mountains in the summer.

"Perfect," it murmured, eyes flashing over the edge of the phone. "But take a look and let me know if you want another."

"It's fine, thank you." Finley didn't even pretend to glance at the screen as the Demon returned her phone. Her eyes were solely locked to its blues. "Do you uh, want one of yourself?"

"I would, but I don't have my phone on me."

"I can take it on mine and send it to you, if you want."

A stillness in the summer air stifled any movement of pine branches and brambles as the Demon's eyes shifted beyond Finley, down the unmarked trail behind her. Taking off its cap, it raked its fingers through blonde hair, making every strand shine gold in the late afternoon sunlight.

"Take one with me," it said.

As Finley held the phone up, the Demon slipped in beside her. And she should've known then, if not by the smell of smoke in its hair, then by the heat of its skin as it pressed against her own.

Each click of the shutter drew them closer and she found it hard to tear herself away from its warmth, despite the scorch of the summer sun blazing down her back. But the Demon's warmth was different. Its warmth filled her insides, made her heart flutter, her pulse pound as it wrapped its hand around her waist. Its warmth was not the touch of man, not like any she had grown to know, and that made it all the more mystifying.

Scrolling through the roll of photos, her thumb caught on a crack in the screen, tearing just enough skin to make her wince. She tried to ignore the prick and wiped off the smudge of red in the corner, noticing then with no surprise, the lack of service bars.

"Now, if only I could find a sliver of reception in this forest."

"There's a booster at the lodge," the Demon thumbed behind, "you should stop by. I have the whole place to myself for the weekend."

Finley's eyes followed across the dam to where it was pointing. "Hart's Content? How'd you manage that during peak summer?"

The Demon's lips curled to a smile as it shrugged. "Perks of sleeping with the owner."

"Oh..."

"And by that, I mean I am the owner."

"Oh," she repeated with a laugh this time. A gust of northerly wind swept through, freezing the beads of sweat along her back, but she just shook them down her spine with a little shiver. "I guess that explains it."

"Are you staying nearby? I didn't see another car parked at the trailhead."

Whether it was Gram's constant lecturing about her generation sharing too much with strangers or whether she was just too damn embarrassed to say she was staying with her ailing grandfather—or maybe it was that she did in fact sense something just flat out wasn't right, she decided to lie.

"I've got a tent over on Two Lick. It's no fancy hunting lodge by any means, but the view from the water's edge is gorgeous at sunset."

"I won't argue with that." The Demon grinned its bright white smile, wiping its brow before sliding its cap back on. "But if you'd like to wake up to a sunrise just as beautiful, I hope you'll come up to see me."

And that night, Finley hung her wings upon the Demon's horns.

But while she'd gone on to enter the Demon's lair that evening and the next, that decision to lie about the cabin's location was the one thing she knew now was keeping her safe. Even seven years later, the Demon had no idea the back end of its two-thousand acre hunting reserve abutted the land her family has owned since her great, great granny was sold off to the foreman of the mine.

And like the logging road veins of the forest, everything came back to the number three mine.

Which still felt no closer now than it did ten minutes ago when River had parked the jeep.

Long gone were the golden leaves of maple trees at this elevation. Fall had fallen fast on the northside of the mountain, surrounding them in the browns and grays of the drearysome days that count down to winter.

As Finley slowed to look around, her vision blurred, head throbbing with the memory of the Demon still hot in her mind. She tried to focus on a white paper birch a couple paces ahead, but had to take a second to rub at the ache behind her eyes. The pain dispersed a little to the back of her head and she blinked a couple times, looking to where that birch had been, only to find its skeletal branches were running their fingers through her hair.

Swatting the branch away, she spun around as the tree continued past her, moving in such a way she couldn't comprehend. It had to be just her own self, walking backwards and away from the tree's white bony spine. Yet, heavy were her feet, planted firm in the old leather hiking boots River had given her. In the distance, the back of River's suede jacket and the rifle began to blend and blur into the brambles, shrinking, while the trees around her grew thicker and taller and closer.

Another branch brushed against her back and she turned to face a white pine. Where it should have had long green needles, black quills pierced its wooden fingers instead. Unlike the momentum of the other trees, this one seemed to hover before her, just as curious as she. With a breath, its trunk swelled, bark cracked, as its limbs spread out wide, beckoning her beneath its canopy.

Careful to duck below its boughs, Finley stepped over its roots and approached its base. Something about the pine called to her, spoke to her in no audible tongue, but drew her near all the same. As she sunk her fingertips into the grooves of its gnarly bark, sap as dark as coal tar seeped around her hand and the garnet in her ring began to glow a blood red.